


The Same of the Game

by Aikori_Ichijouji



Category: Skip Beat!
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff, mostly edited, one day - oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aikori_Ichijouji/pseuds/Aikori_Ichijouji
Summary: The sudden shift must have triggered something within him because when he looked at the dress again he didn’t just see a concoction of flowers and lace bent on driving him to distraction. Okay, that was a lie. He still saw that but he also saw more. Namely, he saw the intent behind the dress...“I think we’re being set up.”
Relationships: Mogami Kyoko/Tsuruga Ren
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70
Collections: The Muse's Studio





	The Same of the Game

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [AkisMusicBox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkisMusicBox/pseuds/AkisMusicBox) in the [muses_studio_sb](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/muses_studio_sb) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>   
> 

Balmy summer evenings were few and far between the seemingly endless days of rain in the city. That particular night was the glorious reprieve from almost a week of sagging umbrellas, soggy shoes, and soaked jackets. Of course, he had to spend it working; a fact that was made less daunting by the additional fact of the person with whom he was working. He looked across the table—it was more like a slight glance to one side due to the tiny table’s size—at his assigned partner and tucked away the sigh that waited just in the back of his throat. Her auburn hair was a veritable plethora of golden reds and oranges in the city lights and her mere presence never failed to reduce him to a mass of anxiety, sweating, and longing barely contained by the thinnest veneer of calm and poise.

She, too, was thankful for the more agreeable weather. The last thing she needed was extreme humidity making the dress she wore cling to her any more than it already did. Not that the dress wasn’t stunning—and probably obscenely expensive. She fell in love with it from the moment she’d opened the garment bag to remove it from its hanger. The details were gorgeously intricate and she splurged several seconds running her fingers over the floral embroidery before putting it on. All of that aside, she realized something very important the moment she arrived at the assigned location. The moment she saw him sitting at that table; saw the light, slouchy cardigan layered on top of a shirt with the first two buttons undone. He appeared rakish and strangely more debonair than he ever looked in a three-piece suit—despite having a frame that was  _ made _ for them—and she forced herself not to stare.

Of course, the lack of said suit meant only one thing: she was horribly overdressed.

“I thought this was going to be a surveillance mission at some black-tie event,” she hissed from behind the glass she held to her lips.

“What did they tell you at your briefing?” It never ceased to amaze how he could enunciate so clearly while keeping his mouth completely still.

She tilted the miniature umbrella in her drink out of the way with one finger and took a sip.

“Very little because my schedule was so tight,” she admitted. “I got an outfit, a photo, a name, and instructions to observe but not interact unless explicitly ordered to do so. I figured I’d be able to extrapolate the rest from there.”

They peeked over at a man seated a few tables away who guffawed at an extremely impolite volume and puffed on a large cigar with seeming impunity. No one seemed to notice or care about his direct disobedience of the citywide smoking ban. It was a miracle that he was unaware of either of their presences yet. Everyone else around him had already noticed the glaringly mismatched couple. The stares and murmurs that surrounded them were impossible to ignore.

Her partner for the evening sighed next to her, swirling the amber liquid in his glass and letting the ice clink rhythmically against the sides. Something about their situation felt wrong, besides their uncoordinated outfits. It wasn’t the first time they’d encountered mistakes when sent out into the field but the majority of them could be chalked up to minor oversight. This was the first time a mistake was made that could seriously compromise their mission. The way she shifted ever so slightly in her seat told him her thoughts were most likely moving in the same direction as his.

“We could abort the mission,” he offered. “I’ll say something untoward and you can throw a drink in my face and storm off. Just like old times.”

She allowed herself a crooked smile and remembered the earlier days of her career and the adversarial relationship they had. It seemed so long ago that she thought differently of him. She almost wished she could go back to that time. A time before her thoughts of him were complicated, emotional, and frighteningly detailed.

“As much fun as that would be, no.” She let out a small laugh and took another sip, her eyes darting over to the Cigar Man (as she’d titled him in her head) and back. “Besides, doesn’t something else seem a little strange to you? Some _ one _ else?”

Another quick look at their target told him very little. The confusion on his face was obvious and his partner shook her head, her eyes lingering for a bit too long on the opened collar of his shirt.

“The nose,” she suggested, shifting her gaze elsewhere.

Still nothing. She sighed, pulling the umbrella from her drink before shoving it with unnecessary force back into the glass, spattering droplets of her diluted beverage onto her dress.

“I don’t know how you’ve been doing this longer than I have and you can’t recognize our Section Head in disguise.”

He didn’t have to look again to know she was right. The deep brown of his eyes darkened further and he frowned. What was that man doing there? His fellow agent squirmed again beside him and he tried not to stare at the way the dress followed her every curve. He’d been trying his damnedest not to do that since she first showed up. It was his turn to squirm in his seat.

The sudden shift must have triggered something within him because when he looked at the dress again he didn’t just see a concoction of flowers and lace bent on driving him to distraction. Okay, that was a lie. He still saw that but he also saw  _ more.  _ Namely, he saw the intent behind the dress. It had one man’s signature all over it and that man was sitting only a few paces away cackling with some so-called compatriots and purposely drawing attention to himself.

“I think we’re being set up.”

“By our own people?” her face drained of all color and she placed the glass back on the table with a careful, but shaking hand. “Does that mean we’re—”

He winced, cursing his choice of words the moment he saw her reaction. That was definitely not the right phrasing to use around anyone in their profession. His mind commended him on that genius move in scathing tones. With a shake of his head, he rested his elbows on the table and crossed his arms. Was there any way to metaphorically say this without her misinterpreting it as some sort of code?

No. He had no choice but to be direct.

An unwelcome warmth began to spread across his cheeks and his insides were in a state of upheaval. Never in the history of his career had he been this uncollected. He was in absolute shambles and he hated it. He hated their Section Head for interfering. He wanted to hate the damned dress but that seemed impossible. And the war of nerves that raged within him forced the words out of his mouth.

“I think we’re being set up… on a date.”

She felt herself seize up, her whole body going rigid in an instant. Hands bunched themselves into fists in her lap and the ramrod straightness of her back gave her the air of displaced royalty. She noticed the furrow in her brow just as distinctly as she noticed the way her lips had pulled in on themselves, shutting tight, tight, tight like it contained a dangerous secret that threatened to escape (which, to be fair, was not far from the truth). Another burst of laughter came from off to her right. It mocked her with its garish timbre and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Angered, frustrated and embarrassed, she pivoted her entire body towards the source of it.

And glared.

“... And cut!” The director’s voice broke the tension of the scene. “That was incredible, you two! I could feel the turmoil, the yearning. It was perfect! I’d almost swear you’ve been in this exact situation before.”

A sheepish laugh left Kyoko before she could stop it and she looked down at her lap to hide the color in her cheeks. Ren scratched at the back of his neck and looked askance.

“The characters are so well written, I guess it just made our jobs easier,” Ren deflected in a very Ren fashion.

Kyoko could only nod along in agreement.

The director waved off their modesty with a scoff and told them to take a short break while the next scene was set up. Thus, they lounged on some chairs pushed into a corner with snacks and bottles of water between them.

“That’s another point against you right, Tsuruga-san?” Kyoko said once their area was vacated by crew members. “I saw that blush.”

“And one against you as well,” he nodded, pointing his water bottle towards her. “Don’t think I didn’t see you checking out my exposed chest.”

“That was in character!” she defended.

“I could argue the same for my own reaction, you know.”

Kyoko shook her head. “No, I can tell when it’s you and when it’s your character.”

“Oh, can you now?” Ren raised an eyebrow at her.

“Do you doubt my abilities?” she challenged.

“Well they do seem awfully convenient given the current situation,” he pointed out, then shook his head in confusion. “Wait, why exactly were we keeping score again?”

“To see who was more affected by whom,” she reminded him, unscrewing the top on her water.

“Ah, right.” He pulled the memory from a dusty, forgotten corner. “If I remember correctly, I believe I predicted that it would be me. It would always be me.”

Her cheeks took on the hue of a freshly blossomed camellia and she refused to meet his eyes. He chuckled.

“I believe that’s another point against you.”

Kyoko harrumphed into her bottle, hoping the water would somehow cool the inferno that had spread across her face. She could feel his eyes swooping over her like they had while they were filming, only it felt entirely different. This was how she could tell him apart from his character. An intensity was there that was mostly absent while the cameras were rolling.

“If you don’t ask them to keep that dress, I will.”

She spluttered, choking on her mouthful of water and turning incredulous eyes on him. He returned her stare, steady and unapologetic. Then he smiled.

“Another point against me, right?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said with a contented sigh.

“Why?” Kyoko breathed, unable to comprehend why he would give up the advantage in their—admittedly ridiculous—wager.

“Because this is a game I don’t mind losing.”

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> **All I can say is thank you chitesnoo for the wonderful inspiration. I hope this was an acceptable offering to our beloved doujinshi goddess.**


End file.
